


Make Me Better

by vintage1983



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Now AU but hey ho, Probably doomed, Quarantine, Romance, Sickfic, Smut, Some Plot, stuck in Lorcas quarters, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:12:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983
Summary: Nurse Erin Powers is transferred to the brand new Discovery where she finds things very different from her previous ship and her new Captain proves to be her most challenging patient yet.There will be fluff, angst and inevitable smut.Set pre-series.





	1. New Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who takes the time and trouble to read, comments are welcome and appreciated. A massive thanks to Mia Cooper who managed to make sense out of my nonsense. Writing plot scares me and me being me there will be smut!br />  
> I own nothing except my own characters.  
> It’s nearly January…

Erin tried to walk purposefully down the utilitarian corridor of the space station towards the dock, consciously forcing her head up every time her eyes wanted to focus on the ground. This was it. Her gait concealed a thousand doubts. Discovery sounded like an exciting prospect; it sounded a terrifying one in equal measure. She scanned the faces of uniformed bodies milling around the docking bay, seeking something kind or familiar to quell the discontented rumble in the pit of her stomach. Nothing came. She wondered which of the faces belonged to new crewmates and which she may never see again. Her shuttle was called and she boarded gingerly, her feigned confidence slowly evaporating away. 

There were four other faces aboard the cold grey box, three glancing awkwardly at her as she made her way to a seat. The other gazing firmly at the floor. She instinctively reached to her cheek, imagining some unseen blemish or smudge, then patted nervously at the tight band holding her long, dark hair in place. The fourth face still avoided all eye contact, but it at least triggered a distant recollection of a lecture. Clinging to even the vaguely familiar she sat down beside him, taking sanctuary from the eyes that still seemed to be scanning her. 

The shuttle took off, out into space for the short journey to Erin’s new home. The emptiness of space seemed a warmer and more welcoming prospect.

“Paul Stamets?” she said with a question and a stiffly extended arm to shake his hand. The eyes all focused on the scene. “Erin Powers, I saw one of your lectures a few years ago. I thought it was really interesting that you thought…”. 

“You may well find it interesting, I very much doubt I will” he snapped, cutting her off abruptly. 

The watching eyes widened. 

He raised his head from its position rested on his elbows. “So who did you upset to wind up here? Wife? Husband?”

“Nobody,” she said rather taken aback, “I applied.” 

“Good for you, at least one of us had a choice in the matter.” He finally took the hand that still half hung in the air and gave it a single shake. 

“You’ll have to excuse my lack of enthusiasm, I’m finding the wisdom of splitting up a great research team hard to process, though there are…positives to being assigned to Discovery.” He gave a weak, but genuine smile. The eyes had given up watching and started to whisper amongst themselves as the shuttle made its way into the hanger.  
Erin hadn’t had any expectations of success. She knew the fleet were desperate for medical staff with field experience. She knew she was a decent nurse. The post on Discovery just seemed too good an opportunity to miss. Perhaps, she was alone in that view. Her interview seemed unreassuringly brief. She had spent hours preparing answers, giving examples to her mirror and reading every paper and case study, yet she was asked very little. The interview wasn’t even conducted in person. The hollow figure from Starfleet Medical Personnel curtly cut her off as she started to describe the experience that made her the right candidate. Only two questions seemed to hold any weight. 

“What do you know about Discovery, Nurse Powers?” 

“That she is a flagship vessel in the fields of science and technology. A valuable asset in the war effort and it would be an honour to serve aboard her.” The man nodded satisfied. It was a disinteresting stock response. 

“You understand that the activities and missions of this vessel are strictly classified. You will not be able to discuss anything you experience or witness outside of the crew, including restricted, limited and monitored external communications? You may not be able contact loved ones for some time.”

“I understand fully, Sir, we are at war.”

“Then I would be delighted to offer you the position. Your transfer will be arranged in the next few days.”

The communication ended. She didn’t even have time to thank him, let alone accept. No delay, no deliberations, no other candidates to speak to. Her unconventional interview and Stamets’ lack of enthusiasm, coupled with the strange looks of disapproval made her wonder if was too late to change her mind. It was. The shuttle had landed by the time she had replayed the strange recruitment process in her mind. Her legs felt weak as she pushed through nerves to rise to her feet and take her first steps into the unknown.  
She was the last to disembark. The others had scattered in an instant, seemingly knowing where they were going and what they were meant to be doing. In the hustle and bustle of the busy landing bay, she still had the uneasy sense that she was being observed; if she wasn’t convinced someone was actually pointing at her she would have sworn it was extreme first day paranoia. 

“Hey Medical!” In the absence of another crisp white uniform in a sea of navy blue, she took it to be her. She looked around for the owner of the voice, as crates, containers and bodies all jostled around. 

“Over here, Boots!” came a second shout. This time she honed in on a small girl with short spikey hair waving enthusiastically. 

“I’m Dasha,” she said, “you must be bunking with me, they said my roomy was a nurse. It’s gotta be you. What’s with the boots though? You’re going to get some looks.”  
Dasha’s was the first warm and friendly face. Erin had begun to wonder if there were any on this ship. The culture shock seemed stark when she remembered the camaraderie, the safe and secure work family she had left behind after four years, but then they were different times, before everything changed. Maybe her old ship had changed too. People had seen things, done things, everyone in Starfleet knew someone who was gone. At least this girl still seemed young and full of life. Her hazel eyes twinkled with mischief and she was just tall enough to slide her arm around Erin’s shoulder.

“Come on, Boots, I’ll show you to our palatial quarters.”

“It’s Erin, thanks. I was starting to think everyone here was pretty mean.”

“Oh they are, bunch of assholes. See this one,” she gestured towards another smiling face, “this is Rhys, asshole.” She chuckled and so did he.

“Nice to meet you. So…the uniform I’m guessing Constitution class. People are going to notice that. You just don’t see that on Discovery. I mean I think we should. I’m all for it, but you just…”

“Shut up Rhys. See told you, asshole.” She playfully punched him on the arm. “Anyway, did you notice Franks has taken a shine to our new girl. Could not take his eyes off you. This, my friends, is the ‘in’ we have been looking for.”

“The…’in’? I’m not sure I like the sound of this, but I also suspect I’m in like it or not.” 

Erin looked perplexed as the other two nodded in agreement, worried at just what she was agreeing to, yet oddly pleased at the inclusive charm of her new friends. She was a new face, in what seemed like a cold and harsh environment. If being in was what it took, then maybe it was worth the gamble. There was something instantly likeable about Dasha, kind eyes and a genuine smile. She was trouble, but in the nicest possible way. 

Rhys was right, people were noticing and it was starting to become evident as to why. The jovial company of the other two helped Erin to lift her head. As each passing person scanned her, she scanned them in return. Every uniform made up of a jacket and trousers. She was rapidly realising she was more than likely the only crewmember in a dress. The stares at least made sense;, whether it justified them was a matter of opinion. 

“This is us,” Dasha said, announcing their arrival with a flourish and a bow. Their room was typical, if a little bare and less comfortable than Erin was accustomed to. The ship felt stripped down, more military than she expected. 

“Grab a bunk, Boots, and make yourself at home.” Erin dumped her case on the left hand bed. Rhys lingered at the doorway.

“Tomorrow, ladies, plan brew,” he tipped a mock salute and disappeared. 

“Plan brew?” she questioned. 

Before any answer was forthcoming the computer announced that Erin should report to Dr. Culber in sickbay. 

“Plan brew,” said Dasha, tapping her nose then pressing a finger to her lips with a gentle shush sound. Erin didn’t have time to probe any further, or to worry about what exactly she appeared to have agreed to be involved in. If it was as harmless as it sounded, minor acts of rebellion held their appeal. Now she was heading to meet her new boss. New corridor, new eyes. 

Dr. Hugh Culber gave a reassuring smile. “Welcome, take a seat Nurse Powers.” She perched rather formally. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, I’m really excited to be here.” She tried her best not to look overly eager and fought the ridiculous grin that threatened in the corners of her mouth, as she took in the state of the art medical facility around her.

“The wellbeing of every member of this crew is my responsibility. I have high standards for myself, for the patients I care for and expect the same from my team. I can see you have an exemplary service record and some real front line experience. I also know it can be tough being new, so if you need anything, you can come to me.”  
She felt reassured, compared to the shuttle journey, things didn’t seem so bad. 

“Discovery is…” he chose his words diplomatically, “an unusual place to work. You might find things are done… a little differently. You’ve only served on Constitution class ships, right? Things like, say… your choice of uniform might raise a few eyebrows.” 

Before she could respond, Stamets arrived. 

“That’s that done.” He rolled his eyes. Erin smiled, but she went unnoticed as his attention fell on the Doctor.

“Where are we sleeping? Please tell me our room isn’t one of those grey metal boxes with two intolerably hard mattresses. I’ll get rid of my bags and find out exactly what I’ve got to work with. By the way, Puss in Boots, you’re up next.”

Culber and Stamets had a conversation in the corner of the room, before Stamets turned to leave. “Try not to get eaten by the wolf,” was his parting shot, paired with a slightly wicked smile.

The doctor apologised. 

“Wrong fairy tale I think. I didn’t expect even the senior crew to share a room. Good luck, he’s a bit…” Erin searched for a word, “aloof.” 

“Yes, Paul is… an acquired taste.” Culber’s knowing smile giving away the obvious connection. 

Erin squeezed her eyes shut tightly and bit her lip as she pieced together the relationship between the two officers. “I’ll just pull my foot out of my mouth now, if that’s ok. Sorry.” Her eyes opened slowly and thankfully gauged a lack of offence. “Up next?” she asked tentatively.

“Captain Lorca likes to welcome all new crew personally. He’ll be in his Ready Room. I know he has a reputation, but he really isn’t that scary. I wouldn’t keep him waiting too long though.”

Erin felt mildly sick. She’d heard all about that reputation, heard the rumours; the stories were rife. It felt like a long journey. The lift seemed like the slowest she had ever been in, stopping and starting constantly. The final walk along the corridor was like dragging her feet through syrup three feet deep. At least her worry distracted her from the odd glances of people she passed. She stopped at the door. Patted her hair and cheeks, as if mirrorless she could sense and correct dishevelment, and took a final breath before announcing her presence. 

A pause. Then a deep voice beckoned her inside. He stood with his back to her at the window of the darkened room. Little more than a silhouette in the dim glow, he still cut an imposing figure. She could almost make out the stern face peppered with stars, reflected in the glass. He turned slowly. He was just as intimidating as everyone said.

“Nurse Powers, welcome to Discovery.” He stopped and cocked his head. An eyebrow shot up. Her only conscious thought was ‘shit’. She swallowed and licked her lips, it felt like her tongue was glued down and she had to force herself to speak. 

“Thank you, Captain. I was pleased to be considered for the transfer I…” she trailed off as he stared intently at her. His eyes fixed on the narrow space between the top of her boot and the hem of her dress, before swiftly returning to her worried face. She was being silently assessed, weighed and measured. His expression gave nothing away. 

“I see you studied Klingon health and physiology.” 

“Yes, Sir,” she squeaked, trying to conceal her shaking hands behind her back.

“So if I needed information, you know how to cause them pain?”

“If you are asking me if I could administer effective torture, then the answer is no. I am a Federation nurse, it would be unethical. It goes against everything I stand for as a health care professional.”

He huffed. She studied his still blank response, before digging deep. 

“If you are asking me if I can keep your prisoner alive long enough to get the information you need…then the answer is yes.” 

Erin wasn’t even sure how she had pushed the words out, or why. Perhaps it was in part, an effort to impress him, to sound even a tiny bit tough or fit in. It wasn’t a lie. She imagined Dr. Culber would be disgusted, but Captain Lorca gave a tiny flicker of approval. Desperately seeking something to occupy and conceal her shaking hand s, she tugged at her hem. He watched with mild amusement.

“Dragging at that skirt doesn’t make it any longer.” 

Her cheeks burned.

“While you might not be in breach of any uniform regulations, you may find things a little rougher around here. You might want to rethink your choices. There is little time for frivolity in a war zone.” He was testing for a reaction. 

She felt offended. However nervous she was, she felt a deep sting at being written off. Everyone was so fixated on her appearance.

“Sir, I can assure you I see nothing frivolous in my work. I have served in frontline situations, treating casualties under fire. I have more direct field experience than the rest of the medical team put together and I am, in my own humble opinion a damn good nurse. I’m confident both my record and references will attest to that. I chose this uniform because I feel comfortable like this. I will change it if you order me to, but I can assure you my appearance has no impact on my ability to carry out my duties and it is not my preference to change it.” 

She almost stamped her foot down with the final word and balled her now still hand into a fist. The silence gave her a moment to soak in the fact that within a minute of appearing for the first time before her new captain, this particular captain, this was what she had done. She braced herself for impact. He drew out her wait.

“Why not?”

That was it. No raised voice, no putting her in her place. Quiet curiosity.

“Permission to speak freely.”

He granted it with a wave of his hand.

“Since I arrived here less than two hours ago people have starred at me, sniggered, pointed. I feel judged. I would be changing to fit in. That sounds an awful lot like bullying and I was taught to stand up to bullies. I might not the toughest or most confident person in the room, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be bullied.”

“You seem like a brave girl to me. Wear what you like,” he showed his teeth and Stamets’ comment came back to her. 

“Thank you, Sir. I hope I didn’t speak out of turn. The last thing I would want to do is make a poor impression,” she was back to nervous babbling, while he seemed to flow with comfort in his own space. 

“Stop apologising. I can respect someone who stands their ground. Fortune cookie?”

She sheepishly took one and nibbled at its edges. 

“What’s your fortune, Powers?”

“In my opinion, what you make it, Sir.”


	2. The Volunteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of swears and sexual references in the chapter, nothing too strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this. As always comments and kudos are welcome and very much appreciated. Please let me know if I should push on with this. Thanks to Mia Cooper for looking at this, I have faffed about since so all mistakes are mine.

 

“No fucking way, like no, no, no fucking way,” Dasha said animatedly darting around the room. “You shouted at Lorca, first day, you shouted at Lorca. I damn straight love you. You’re nuts, but hell girl, gotta love you.”

“I didn’t shout at him. I just sort of stood my ground. I didn’t think about it. It just…came out. He’s probably arranging my transfer to a prison colony right now.”

“No way. He gave you a fortune cookie. Only people he likes get one of those. I’ve never had one. Enter.” Rhys appeared at the door. “You ever had a fortune cookie from Lorca, Rhys?” He shook his head vigorously.

“So, plan brew?” Erin ventured, needing to change the subject. A day one run-in with the Captain had to be a record. She really should at least try to keep her head down. She regretted bringing up whatever scheme the two of them were cooking up, but it was at least a distraction from making an idiot of herself earlier on.

There were two days before Discovery left the station. Dasha explained the plan.

“So, Franks looks after logistics and cargo. Nothing gets on board without his ok. We need to get some equipment, sugar, a sack of grain and some fruit on board, without him noticing.” Her expectant face told Erin she should be fully up to speed with this knowledge, and while it was starting to slip into place, it still made little sense.

“So you want to make home brew? You can get all of the ingredients from a replicator. In fact, scratch that, you can get booze from a replicator. Why are we doing this?”

Dasha sighed, as if frustrated at repeating the alphabet to a small child.

“Because, war zone is bound to equal restricted party rations. Because taking the ingredients out of a replicator on board is traceable. Because we need to keep this on the down low,” she explained to the naïve infant beside her, patting out the rhythm of her words on her hand.

Erin considered her options. Evidently this brewing enterprise was taking place in her room, regardless of her consent or compliance. She had a sum total of two friends and a relatively approachable Doctor to turn to. It didn’t seem that big a deal. She tried to quickly calculate the risks. They looked on eagerly, waiting for the green light to initiate the plan. She couldn’t stand to disappoint them, yet felt her cards were probably already marked.

“Alright, alright, I’m in. If Lorca blows me out of an airlock for this I’m holding you two personally responsible and in light of no other obvious heirs, I’ll bequeath my worldly possessions to you while we’re on.” She struggled to believe she was agreeing to this.

They celebrated with excess, hugging her, Dasha bouncing up and down on the spot. It felt like a happy moment, even if it sprung from her willingness to break probably numerous regulations and flirt with some poor sap in the hanger while her friends snuck contraband aboard. She rationalised that officers probably had a little stash of the good stuff squirreled away for the right occasion. Perhaps a Captain like Lorca might even value the initiative; he appeared to be a lot of things, a stickler for doing things by the book didn’t seem to be one of them.

“What the hell are me and Rhys going to do with your stuff? I guess he can keep the lipstick.” It felt like a fun club to be in.

She was there at the appointed time, waiting awkwardly in the hanger. The furtive eye movements, gestures and winks spoke volumes about the trio’s potential as spies. Erin moved in. Her acting was awful, but distracting enough to ensure success. Rhys and Dasha watched from a safe distance until Franks was sufficiently wrapped up to not notice them moving boxes. Erin tipped her head back and laughed excessively, touching the arm of the unfortunate deer in the headlights in text book fashion.

“You do a great job down here, it’s the best kept dock I’ve ever seen on a star ship,” her forced enthusiasm pushed through the fixed smile and gritted teeth. “It’s so…tidy,” she offered, glancing across at the other two who were taking far too long. Thankfully this was a nervous man, his usually eagle eyes focused on the crates in front of him as he mumbled a thank you. At least she was managing to distract him.

“Damn, she’s good,” said Rhys, observing from the doorway, waiting for the cue to move.

“You are enjoying this way too much, freak. Come on get this stuff moved before he runs out of different grunts to make.” She dragged him along by the arm, still unnoticed.

Erin was struggling to make it last. She fought the muscles in her face not visibly wince as an unexpected clatter rang around the room and then threw herself directly into his eye line, grabbing his shoulders and blurting out the first thing that came into her head, urgently acting to maintain his attention. It took all of her effort not to snap her head around to view the source of the noise.

She had talked at him for an unnatural amount of time, though he seemed to be managing the attention, it seemed a little mean to build his hopes up too much. Her smile was more of a pained grimace as she searched for something to fill the excruciating silence in a one sided conversation. The final box disappeared from view, dragged out of sight by her co-conspirators. The escape signal was a welcome relief. She made her excuses and scurried out after them. She felt guilty. Guilty for exploiting some poor man’s social ineptitude; guilty for breaking rules; guilty most of all for rather enjoying the buzz of it all. As she made her way along the hallway, she couldn’t help but feel silently pleased with herself and had to press her lips together to subdue a grin of satisfaction. She tried to push those thoughts away, imagining being hauled in front of Lorca to be admonished for her part in the mischief. It didn’t help. If anything the idea brought a pink flush to her cheeks and caused her to fight harder to repress the unfamiliar feeling of wilful glee.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

Lorca scrolled through the manifest. There were some names he felt he could barely place, despite insisting on getting a look at every one of them on arrival. He had tried to weigh up his new crew, observe their reactions, work out who needed watching, who would follow orders without question, who was useful to him. One name caught his eye. Now her, he remembered. She didn’t need observation, everything in her file said she was hard worker with a strong sense of duty, she wasn’t directly useful to him but surprisingly, if their first meeting was anything to go by was unlikely to take orders she disagreed with lying down.

Lying down. His own thought led him somewhere he hadn’t intended on going. Those long legs looked good in those high boots, good enough to… He shuffled in his seat as his wandering mind forced his body to stir. He didn’t have time for this, though it was a tempting distraction. He’d found her spirited response amusing at the time. Her eyes down at the floor, trying to hide the tremble in her hands. His first assessment said nervous, vulnerable even, but there was no doubt there was a feisty tigress not too far beneath the surface. He was sure he’d like to tame it. He was wandering again, wondering if she’d let him wind a tight grip around that long, dark ponytail, how she’d look with that red lipstick smudged across her face, trying to imagine if she would be passive, biddable or voracious and demanding. Biddable was winning out, that she would be easily coaxed into sliding out of her dress, sinking eagerly to her knees with the right measure of willing and reluctance. His hand started to creep towards his own growing need, when an arrival at the door stopped him in his tracks.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he composed himself, straightening his jacket. A rather serious looking cadet presented him with a delivery. Something new for the growing collection he was putting together. As the doors closed he impatiently set about opening the sturdy flight case, removing the air seal.

A howling alert sounded, as the soft voice of the ship’s computer announced, ‘Contagion Alert’ in her calm but insistent tone.

“What the…” he tried to open the doors of his quarters only to be denied.  

“Computer, open the door,” he demanded.

‘Unable to comply,’ came the unhelpful response. Grumbling, he repeatedly clattered at the control with the heel of his hand as if that would beat it into submission. Further requests were met with the same monotone negative.

 

 

The same alert sounded in sick bay. Culber rushed to the console.

“The computer has detected an airborne virus identified as H47 and sealed off the affected part of the ship.”

Erin’s ears pricked up. “Colony pox,” she chirped, “every kid had that where I grew up, a rite of passage. It popped up, went through a school year and in three days went as quickly as it came. Infectious, unavoidable but in the grand scheme of things it’s relatively harmless to humans; no long term effects. Once you’ve had it you’re immune. It could be deadly to some species on board though.”

Culber looked grave and studied the information on the screen. “Particles were detected in the air and the computer automatically quarantined the area. It seems to have been contained quickly enough not to have spread around the ship. There is no instant cure, but even airborne it should run its course and disperse within 72 hours. Thankfully only one human crewmember has come into contact with it.”

Erin knew exactly what three days of that virus felt like. It wasn’t pleasant and you couldn’t leave someone alone, particularly an adult. She had been seven, her mother watching her every move as each stage progressed. The handful of people back home who made it to adulthood before their turn came around had a far tougher time, so much so that parents positively encouraged infection. Even on Earth, common childhood illnesses still made their way around families and day care centres, never fully eradicated.

“I’ll go,” she said without hesitation. “I’m immune, so I don’t even need a mask, I’ve seen it a hundred times before. You can seal off the area behind me once I’m in.”

“For three days? Once you’re in, you’re in until it’s clear,” the doctor said. He appreciated her willingness to go, had no doubt she was absolutely the right person for the job, but wanted to be clear just what she had volunteered for.

“Yes, it’s fine. It really should be me. I’ll grab what supplies I need. Where am I going?”

“Captain Lorca’s quarters.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, wished she hadn’t been the new girl so eager to volunteer and win brownie points, but resigned to the fact that she was probably the only person who could reasonably do what needed to be done. The looks of sympathy didn’t help. Without anyone speaking a word, faces communicated the silent, but universally understood medical code for ‘difficult patient’. At least someone else was going to explain what was happening to Lorca while she collected what she needed.

An awful lot can happen in three days.


	3. The Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's sickfic o'clock!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's been a while since I updated this. Many thanks to Mia Cooper for being a most diligent beta reader and fixing my mistakes! Still no smut, but stick with it if that's what you're waiting for!.  
> Many thanks for your kind comments, kudos and reads, always welcome and appreciated. 
> 
> Still own nothing and make no money, happy readers are my only reward!

The walk to his quarters seemed endless. Armed with only a medical bag and a clean uniform, her training and a determination to take care of someone who was about to feel very ill. She kept moving down each long, grey corridor. Still not completely sure of the way. She was grateful Dr. Culber had made the journey with her.

“I’m sure you’ve seen this far more times than me, you’ve probably got some wonderful grandma’s remedy up your sleeve. Medical science doesn’t always offer all of the answers. We are on the other side of the comm if you need anything. _Anything,_ ok? Keep checking in, at least every two hours. Here we are.” He smiled sympathetically and patted Erin’s arm as they reached their destination.

“We’ll seal you off here, so you can open the doors. Do you have everything you need?”

Erin nodded unconvincingly as the barrier glowed around her and forced a weak smile.

“Good luck,” were the last words she heard as the doors slid open and she reluctantly stepped in to face the challenge within.

The room was dimly lit, that at least was expected. Lorca sat stiffly at his desk, face hardened and angry. The doors closed on the outside world to a deafening silence.

“Powers,” he said coldly, “you are my appointed babysitter. I can damn well do without being cooped up in here for days.”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” She was sorry for them both. “You’ll be infectious for at least three days, and contact with some of our non-human crew could be life-threatening. May I?”

She ventured slowly into her Captain’s private space, eyes adjusting to the lighting, before tentatively scanning him. He scowled and followed the invisible lines traced through the air by the medical device, eyeing the scanner and its operator with mistrust.

“Sir, you are infected.” The slim hope he was merely a carrier was shattered by the readings in front of her.

“How long before I’m no use to anyone?”

“About an hour, maybe two at the outside. You should…”

He cut her off abruptly.

“Then I need to finish this, before I can’t.”

He sat upright; focused on his work, relaying orders and ignoring her presence completely. Erin checked through the contents of her bag, every tiny noise attracting a frown or grunt of disapproval. She silently took a seat, knowing that medically, he right thing to do was to talk her patient through the symptoms to come, answer questions and reassure him. She also knew in this instance the right thing to do was remain quiet.

She surveyed her unusual surroundings, taking in the details. It was early days on board and her experience of senior officers’ quarters were limited, but it felt distinctly stark and impersonal, it seemed to suit him, judging on what she’d seen so far.   

He finally closed down what he was doing. Erin fidgeted, avoiding eye contact, until he broke the uncomfortable silence.

“So, what the hell can I expect from this?” he frowned.

“It’s going to attack electrical activity in the body, brain first, it’s where there’s the most noise. In most cases anyway,” Erin tried to make light of it, feigning a smile. He was unmoved and shuffled uncomfortably. She cursed her own choice of words; bedside manner was usually one of her strengths. “It really isn’t as scary it sounds,” she reassured. His eyebrow shot up. She could see why, it was difficult to imagine Gabriel Lorca being afraid of anything.

“Spare me the science lesson,” he barked, “just tell me what it does.”

She wrung her hands together, straightened up in her seat and told herself to tell it like it was, no frills or gentleness required.

“It’s sort of like…have you ever been drunk?”

He looked incredulous. “Maybe, once or twice.”

“You’ll feel confused, fuzzy at first, probably dizzy, then most people lose…social filters,” she offered.

“So drunk and disorderly, I can do that,” he looked a little brighter.

Erin sighed. He really hadn’t ever seen stage one.  Adults without social filters were far more troublesome than children.

“That’s not it, is it?”

“No that’s stage one. The virus will look for other neurological activity,” she hurried on, observing his patience wearing again. “It’ll move on to the rest of your nervous system, so you’ll be pretty much immobile.”

“For how long?”

“It depends on the patient. You look strong,” she tried not to look at him, suddenly embarrassed by her appraisal, “maybe a day. Then the last stage is a fever.”

He gritted his teeth. “Anything else I should know about? Am I going to turn green and start raving like a lunatic?”

She forced herself not to smile, it would have been highly unprofessional.

“The fever’s a good thing, it means you’re fighting it off and on the mend.”

He let out an annoyed grunt and raised himself to his feet, only to stagger back. Erin leapt to her feet and tried to steady him. “Here we go,” she said, resigned to her next three days of incarceration.

Over the next few hours he had become increasingly unsteady; he had tried to carry on working against Erin’s advice and was now slumped on the floor in the corner hanging on for dear life.

“Feel sick,” he grunted.

“Can you make it to the bathroom?”

He snorted in reply. She was right. The untrained eye would have mistaken him for well and truly drunk. She managed to steer him the right way and he blundered toward the toilet. Erin patted his back kindly until the retching subsided and was ready to offer water. He sat bleary eyed with an almost gormless look on his face.

“You know, you are very pretty, anyone ever told you that? You know you are,” he slurred. “And I think… no, no I know you were sent with those, those legs,” he jabbed his finger into the air, “to torment me. That’s right, who sent you?” He laughed at his own ridiculousness. Erin wanted to, but her cheeks were burning with more than amusement.

“Damn fine, sexy legs distracting me.”

Erin tutted, but became overly conscious that her unruly patient, still propped up beside the toilet, was at an unfortunate height to give him an eyeline roughly at the point where her boots stopped. Her fingers clasped around her hem, the security blanket she seemed to go to when he made her feel nervous.

“Aw don’t do that, sweetheart,” he said with the face of a disappointed school boy, “just take it off. We should do that, we should, it’s hot in here. Do you think it’s hot? You’re hot, I’m hot, let’s just do it.”

He was dragging himself up to his feet, unsteady, but managing until he lunged towards her, pinning her to the sink, arms either side of her. She was uncertain if it was intentional, or just the way he had happened to sway. Either way he grinned and seemed exceptionally pleased with himself.

She shuffled awkwardly at the proximity, feeling like she should demand he moved, but finding herself unable to. He leant in against the sink and Erin convinced herself this was to support his wobbling frame and nothing more. She had nowhere to go and he pressed into her. He reached out to clumsily stroke her face. Erin came to her senses and slapped his hand away.

“Come on don’t be boring. Kat’s boring now. All so fucking serious all the time. Do you know Kat? She used to be fun. She used to like it when I…”

“I don’t know Kat.” She interrupted sharply. “Now behave yourself. In there now and sit down or so help me I’ll give you a shot that knocks you out for a week.” She pointed sharply and manoeuvred him out through the narrow doorway.

If only she could put him under for a while, but he needed to stay conscious. It was the best way to fight through it. She remembered her own exhausted mother had entertained her for endless hours as she’d giggled and babbled nonsense in her room until it subsided. Sleep would only allow the virus to take a tighter grip and prolong the whole thing.

She also had a pretty good idea who Kat was and that was a story she really didn’t want to get into. Erin wasn’t a gossip, but she heard plenty. It made her feel oddly uncomfortable, not just because the undesirably personal information most certainly pertained to a well-known Admiral, but because it hit her with a sharp sting of jealousy she was unwilling to acknowledge.

Gabriel perched on the end of the bed. He looked like a boy who had just been scolded by a stern headmistress, almost pouty.

“Drink this, it’ll help with the dizziness at least.” Erin handed him the concoction her mother swore by.

He took it sheepishly and sniffed it warily. Sipping the contents, he grimaced at the taste.

“What’s in it?”

“Best not to ask. Drink up.” She smiled, her voice softening. It was important to remind herself this wasn’t a real situation. He wasn’t actually drunk, nor was he in control of the words coming out of his mouth. It was better not to give it too much thought anyway, her imposing Captain lunging from lecherous wolf to wounded child.

“You shouldn’t tell me what to do,” he grumbled. “I am the Captain, you don’t give the orders around here.”

Erin rolled her eyes; she should have known the moment of peace was never going to last. She took the empty glass away.  

“Yes, you are the Captain.”

“Bar keep, I’ll have another,” he laughed at himself.

Erin was patient, but this was trying. She checked the time and wondered just how long before stage two would kick in and he’d at least be able to hold a lucid conversation and more importantly for her sanity, he could sleep.

“I want to go out. Let’s go dancing,” he was on his feet swaying precariously.

“You are in no fit state to go anywhere.” She hooked her arm under his, hoping they didn’t collapse in a heap.

“I am the Captain and I order you, no me, to take you dancing.”

Erin sighed as he flopped back down onto the mattress.

“Am I good at being Captain?”

“Yes, Sir. Of course you are.” Erin noted his mood shifting to melancholy.

“No, I’m not a good Captain. I’m an asshole. I bet that’s what everyone says. Who are you again?”

“I’m a nurse, Powers, Erin Powers, I’m here to take care of you until you get better.”

“Where are we?”

“In your quarters, on board _Discovery_.”

He looked genuinely disconcerted, confused and unsure.

“That’s not my ship. My ship is the _Buran._ ”

Erin puffed out the air from her cheeks and sat down gently beside him. She really didn’t want to have this conversation now. If he genuinely had blocked out the events of his previous command and had no memory at all, it would be like breaking the news for the first time. Lorca was far too vulnerable and unstable to process it. She knew the official line; she had also heard numerous versions of events that had been whispered amongst the officers in her old post.

“Not anymore. This is your new ship.” She stalled as best she could. What he might or might not say frightened her a little, yet he looked so sad and forlorn she couldn’t help but feel for him.

“Where is my old ship?”

Erin wondered if he half remembered, she danced round the truth. “It’s gone…she was…decommissioned.”

“That’s a lie. That’s a fucking lie. Don’t patronise me.” His eyes flashed with anger and something else Erin couldn’t identify with any certainty, perhaps guilt.  “They’re dead. All dead.” He paused, anger subsiding into sadness. “I killed them.”

His head sunk into his hands. Erin had no words of wisdom or comfort to offer, they seemed pointless at this moment in time. She felt very certain this wasn’t the soulless monster that had been described to her before she arrived here, that people had warned her about. He let out stifled sobs, even in this state he still hid his face out of shame.

“Gabriel,” she whispered softly. It seemed odd addressing him that way, but Captain Lorca seemed even more ill-fitting. She shushed him softly.

She silently slid her arm around him and pulled him in, his head collapsed onto her lap and she tenderly stroked his hair, quietly comforting the broken man beside her.

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t, Gabriel, I’m here.”


	4. The Embarrassed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sickness is progressing, along with some less than subtle UST...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Are we all quite recovered from Sunday/Monday? I'm not. I'll stay full on spoiler free just in case...but leather and handcuffs (I think I may have actually died...) and I also managed to make myself feel sad reading a bit of this. If you've seen episode 10 you will probably know why :(
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has been reading and leaving lovely comments and kudos. It is always welcome and appreciated.  
> Thanks to Mia Cooper for putting right my mistakes. I have tinkered about and added bits in, so all mistakes are my own doing!
> 
> For those seeking more adult content, it will be arriving. I'm even irritating myself at the time it is taking to get there. Please stick with it, I'll get there!

The insistent bleeping of the comm was what brought them back into the world.

Time had lost its meaning. Erin had missed her check in with the Doctor. She had done it religiously at first, but in truth she had no idea how long they had sat there on the bed, or when her fingers and his had knotted together. She gently untangled herself and shifted up to respond to the call. His thumb lingered over her palm a second longer than it ought to. Erin pulled herself up carefully.

“I need to get this, Ok?”

He nodded, but did not look up.

Culber sounded concerned. “How’s it going in there?”

“Fine, Doctor, fine. Well not fine, but we’re holding up alright. Stage two is on its way I think.”

“How’s the Captain doing?”

Erin looked back at the crumpled heap on the bed. He would not appreciate the scene going beyond the four walls that confined them. She sighed. What she felt was as blurred and unclear as the mind of her patient.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected.”

“Well as long as everything is ok. It sounds like it’s settled down in there.” It was true; earlier conversations had been largely shouted over the incomprehensible ramblings of a man freed of the shackles of social niceties. Lorca’s perceptions of social mores were looser than most people’s to start with.

“You must be tired. You’ve been in there almost 24 hours. Make sure you eat and rest when you can. Doctor’s orders.”

“I’ll try.”

Gabriel was starting to stir. Sitting upright, his eyes seemed clearer.

“All in one piece?” Erin asked, hopeful of a sensible answer.

“I think so, my legs don’t want to do what I tell them though.” He looked relieved she had said nothing else. The beauty of actually being drunk was sometimes it afforded you the grace of allowing you to forget whatever it was you said or did to embarrass yourself. He would remember, every minute and every word.

“Come on then. We should get you into bed.”

A smirk twisted at the corner of his mouth, Erin couldn’t help but mirror it.

“In light of some of your earlier comments, perhaps that was a bad choice of words, nevertheless it is the best place for you.”

“I can only apologise if anything I might have said, was… offensive or inappropriate.”

“Nonsense,” she said in the most matronly tone she could muster, “but you are probably going to need some help.”

She tried her best to be efficient, but it wasn’t the most dignified of moments, single-handedly wrestling the increasingly immobile Captain out of a snugly fitted uniform. There were still notes of tension in the air, awkwardness that came from the unspoken truths: that he had bared his soul to a woman he barely knew; that the reddening of his eyes had nothing to do with his eye condition and that he had cried. Erin tried to lift the mood. She laughed as she dragged him out of his clothes, cursing his overly soft bed and telling him how much more manageable the whole thing would have been on one of those racks those of lesser importance were given to sleep on.

“You choose now to lodge a complaint about the comfort levels of your bunk,” he finally smiled. “You might want to put that in writing, so I can ignore it at my leisure.” Captain Lorca was evidently back to his usual self.

He had thrown away his jacket in a fit of temper with it earlier; similarly his boots had been lost along the way, having evidently also displeased him. She had managed to wriggle him free of his trousers with minimal contact, tugging at the ankles, encouraging as much shuffling as possible to spare them the awkwardness. Erin knelt on the bed to take off his undershirt.

“Is that strictly necessary?” he asked.

She would have sworn there was something flirty in his voice.

“You are going to burn up; trust me, you’ll appreciate it soon enough.”

In spite of her words, she hesitated. Her fingers brushed the bare skin of his stomach as she took hold of the fabric. He felt warm and firm. It was deeply inappropriate and she tried to hide it, but her breath hitched just a fraction at the contact. She swallowed and got on with it; the task only further complicated by her determination not to look.

“I’m pretty sure you threatened to take off all of your clothes earlier, I should have let you and saved myself a lot of work now.” The delivery was light enough, the outcome was not. She tried desperately not to catch his eye, but was caught. Words were forming at his mouth, the air hung heavy.

“Owwww,” he wailed, his yelp smashing the tension and snapping Erin back to nursing mode. “Is it meant to hurt this much? You failed to mention this was going to hurt.”

It was true; she had glossed over the fact that stage two hurt like hell. The virus had moved on to the rest of his nervous system. Having been through it, she knew sharp pins and needles would shoot through every extremity, making the muscles spasm and ache. It would move around, hitting limbs without warning. As a child, she had sobbed as her mother held her tightly, until painkillers lulled her to sleep. She would willingly do the same.

“I thought you had enough to contend with. I can give you something for the pain, but it’ll make you sleep. You should try and eat something first.”

She returned to her task, finally peeling him out of the shirt. It was hard not to run her palms across his bare chest as she slid it up, even harder not to stare at the taut frame laid out on the bed. At least the lights were dim enough to conceal her almost lustful gaze. It felt utterly wrong, wicked even. This was her Captain, her patient, a man who had only just sobbed uncontrollably, the patch of her dress was still damp from his tears that had pooled there when she held him.

She was angry at herself for being so weak and unprofessional. Yet, she still felt electrified as her fingers lightly grazed the fine scars that traced telling outlines on his body, she still tensed as her thumbs barely brushed his nipples. It was beautifully awful. Avoiding all eye contact wasn’t easy; he twitched under her finger tips, she wanted to put it down to the virus, but couldn’t be certain. Breath hitched, she managed to shuffle him under the covers and out of sight as swiftly as she could and brought soup from the replicator, endeavouring to remind herself she was here to care for someone who was sick.

 “If this tastes as bad as the last thing you gave me, I’m going to start getting paranoid you’re trying to poison me.” He was visibly wincing trying to adjust his arm, numbed by the pins and needles, to crook it over the covers and take the spoon.

“You might find this difficult. I could…”

“Absolutely not, I’ve got this,” he snapped before she could say anymore. He took the spoon, only for it to clatter back into the bowl. Muttering and cursing, he determinedly attempted it again, only to find the same outcome. He growled in frustration, mumbling clipped, but recognisable profanity through gritted teeth.

Erin allowed it to play out and let him huff. “If you want to eat, you are going to have to accept my help.” Her patient conceded with a sulky gesture. “Now do you want the star ship noises or the choo-choo train?” She giggled. He tried to look annoyed but his face broke into a real, warm smile.

After he had eaten, Erin could see the pain worsening as he twitched uncomfortably, stifling yelps.

“I’m going to give you a strong painkiller,” she soothed. “You’ll sleep for a while.”

“You know it’s like a glimpse into my future. Being fed mushy food by a nurse, then getting drugged up for sleep. The retirement home is only just around the corner.”

“You’re not old,” she said subtly pressing the hypo into his arm.

“I’m too old for…” he had drifted off. She patted the covers around him and resisted the urge to plant a soft kiss on his forehead as he slept.  

Still and silent he slept for a few hours. Erin’s stomach let out a low rumble; she was starving. She considered forgoing her usual healthy options, she craved carbs and sugar: comfort food. The smell of the soup still hung in the air and she decided it would do the job, served with thick hunks of warm crusty bread. It was polished off quickly, but still had not filled her. There was only one answer. Commanding the replicator, Erin inhaled the sweet aroma of a hot chocolate pudding. She ignored the machine’s pleas to restrict sugary snacks, instead telling it to shut up.

Gabriel began to stir.

“That smells good,” he mumbled, as he came around.

It must have been a deep sleep; he looked confused to find a nurse seated on his sofa, devouring cake. Dragging himself up, he flinched as he tried to stretch.

“Still feeling rough?”

“I’ve felt worse.”

Erin’s attention shot to her pudding to avoid his eyes, she had seen him much worse. At least his voice sounded brighter. She wondered if she should ask if he wanted to talk, but thought better of it.

“Any of that for the patient?” he nodded in the direction of her pudding.

She ordered more and brought it dutifully. “Do you need help?”

“I think I can manage,” he said with a half-smile.

Erin hovered awkwardly.

“Sit,” he gestured at the space on the bed.

Erin rather stiffly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Sitting primly, she smothered her hands over her lap and watched cautiously as he took a spoonful of pudding.

“Mmmm, God that’s good,” his mouth still half full.

“It’s not quite real, homemade pudding though. My grandmother wouldn’t have a replicator in the house. She said she wouldn’t feed any of us fake garbage. My grandpa bought one and she chased him with a broom until he took it out of the house. Tough cookie, my grandma, I wish I was half as formidable.”

“Six months of front line triage in the middle of a civil war, came out of it without so much as a scratch. I’d say formidable enough.” Erin was surprised how familiar he was with her record.

“It wasn’t like I picked it, it’s not my ideal holiday. I just had to get on with it. You play the cards you’re dealt.”

He looked wistful. “My mother used to say that when I was a kid, she…” his voice trailed off and he noticed her grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, it’s just hard to imagine…”

“I have a mother?”

“That you were ever a kid. If you were I think your mother must have been a saint. I don’t believe for a moment that you ever did as you were told. I bet you pulled girls’ hair and ripped the heads off their dollies. And a jock- you were such a jock in high school.”

He didn’t deny a word of it, but laughed and studied her face. “I bet you were quite the prissy little Missy. You’d have cried and told your Mommy if I’d pulled your hair. Probably Homecoming Queen.”

She shook her head, amused by his view of her. “Quite the opposite. I’m a colony girl, Captain. Grew up on the wild frontiers, outdoors. I did cry. Then I toughened up. Kids can be cruel.” She looked sad for a moment, but recovered quickly. “If you’d pulled my hair, I’d have punched you in the face and you’d have been crying to your Mommy.”

“When you were all pigtails and grazed knees I was a Starfleet Officer. I don’t think I’d have gotten much sympathy.”

He had finished off the pudding and she took the dish. A streak of the thick chocolate sauce smudged her thumb. Without a conscious though she put it to her lips and licked it off. She remained oblivious until her eyes met his, intently watching the action of her tongue across the soft, chocolate smeared pad. She stopped and held his gaze, unable to resist she took her thumb into her mouth and then painstakingly and slowly withdrew it.  

Instantly filled with regret, she jumped to her feet.

“I should top up your pain medication,” she fumbled.

“I feel well enough to be doing something useful. I’ve had enough sleep.”

Erin nodded. “I can give you something less powerful and I don’t see why you can’t be busy, provided you stay put in bed and drink plenty of fluids.” She tried to be matronly again.

Reluctantly, she handed him his Padd and allowed him to work for a while. She settled herself on the sofa and read for a few hours. The room fell into companionable silence, occasionally he would groan in discomfort. Erin would adjust the pillows or apply pressure pads as he directed in largely single word exchanges. She refused to make eye contact.

Eventually, he drifted off to sleep and she removed the Padd and made him more comfortable, adjusting and plumping the pillows. Erin was exhausted. Pulling the chair up by the bed, she’d checked in with the Doctor and now all she could do was wait. She had drifted off into a dreamless daze, in the dark limbo between wake and sleep for a while, before coming to with a jolt. Making certain he was sound asleep, she made her way into the bathroom and caught sight of her reflection. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, blackened more by the melted eyeliner that had smudged and blended with the dark stripes under her eyes. Her hair was out of place and limp.

She sniffed at her shoulder. It felt like an eternity since she had showered and the last, she didn’t even know how long had been physically demanding. Between chasing around her wild-eyed quarry then hauling him around into bed it beat any workout she had ever done.

She poked her head back around the door. Captain Lorca was out for the count and showed no signs of stirring anytime soon. A quick shower wouldn’t hurt.

The hot water rained down and she let out a deep sigh. This was a surreal and confusing place to be, she mused. This ship was like no other, its Captain was like no other she’d ever come across. She had thought him intimidating on their first meeting, but underneath that bold exterior and obscene over confidence he was funny, flawed, and human. Under the drumming of the shower she allowed herself to be honest with herself; he was very attractive.

And tonight- was he flirting with her, just amusing himself out of boredom, or had no idea what he was saying or doing? Was she flirting back and encouraging it? Did he mean what he’d said in the bathroom? What would have happened if she hadn’t slapped his hand away?

Erin’s fingers instinctively returned to where he had brushed her cheek.

She tried to close the can of worms she was mentally opening. This was not going to happen. It was bad, unprofessional and against every rule, but the thought of it was tempting. She shook herself and instead scrubbed her fingers into her scalp with vigour.

Feeling fresher and cleaner she started to dress, before realising she had left her clean uniform laid on the sofa.

“Shit,” she mouthed. She put on what she had, clean underwear and a fresh undershirt and scanned the room. The Captain was still, eyes closed, asleep. She pinched her lower lip between her teeth and weighed up the options. Her worn dress smelt awful, she really didn’t want to put it back on. He’d never know. She could dart for the couch in a second. Feeling brave enough she scampered out and grabbed it. A voice stopped her dead as she picked up the gleaming white fabric.

“You know, Powers, we have talked about uniform and I let you have the dress, but those pink frilly things are definitely not regulation.”

Flames of embarrassment licked at her face. Squeezing her eyes shut like a small child who believed they disappeared once they couldn’t see, she clutched the limp material to her chest and fled back to the safety of the bathroom.

By the time she ventured out again, he had thankfully drifted back to into sleep. Erin scanned him; his temperature was starting to rise, his slumber less peaceful. He shuffled and groaned, uttering incomprehensible speeches and orders, his tone rising to an angry shout, then softening. Despite the cooling gel packs Erin had tucked around him and the best medication he had to offer, he grew hotter and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

“Come on, keep fighting, almost there,” She whispered, softly mopping his brow with a damp cloth soaked in soothing lavender oil. The smell reminded her of home, and she wondered if its comforting properties were as much for herself as for her patient. Sometimes he would bolt upright, eyes wide, but not truly awake, crying out in terror and she would ease him back down. Other times he would whisper; unable to make out his words properly, she thought she caught the sound of her own name, but banished the idea quickly. His chanting became almost uniform, sounds melted less into one another.

They were names and ranks.

Erin didn’t understand at first, until a familiar one sparked a memory. This was the crew manifest of the Buran. Every name, spoken without pause, committed solemnly to memory.

She sighed deeply. There was little she could do; he probably didn’t even know she was there. She kicked off her boots and shimmied onto the bed beside him. He had tossed aside the covers as his temperature had soared. He lay on his side, knees pulled up into his chest and Erin curled up in the space behind him, pressing her head to his back, lightly stroking his arm and shushing him, until the nightmares subsided and she eventually drifted off to sleep beside him.

 


	5. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post this time, it just made more sense to split this into 2 chapters and I'm not mean enough to leave you all hanging!  
> Thank you so much for all of your kind words and support, it really means a lot and keeps me going. I'm chuffed with the response and amazed anyone is still reading!  
> Continued thanks to Mia Cooper for being shit hot at sorting out my errors and having the patience to wade through them all.

 

Erin awoke with a start. For a bleary-eyed few seconds she had forgotten where she was, or what she was doing there. Suddenly aware of the bed she lay on and its owner she patted the space beside her to find it empty. The only trace of Gabriel Lorca was the still slightly damp outline of the fevered Captain marked out on the sheets. She sat up. He was fully dressed, working busily at his desk.

“Good morning, Powers – well, afternoon as it goes, but being locked up in here for three days has me at a loss for time. Culber says we can get out of here in the next half hour and you’ll be pleased to learn I didn’t tell him you were sleeping on the job.”

He was a captain again. Smart, business-like, cock-sure of himself. Feeling dishevelled and self-conscious she scrambled to her feet and smartened herself, dragging on her boots, trying to tie up her hair. It bothered her she was unready to be seen, free of make-up, hair loose and unruly. It made her feel more naked and exposed than if she had woken up without her clothes.

On second thoughts that would be far, far worse.

She curled her arm around her waist as if it afforded her a shield. Only Dasha ever saw her like this, briefly upon waking and they had an unspoken agreement that she would have first dibs on the mirror. She hadn’t seen her friend in days; Erin wondered what sort of no good she had been up to, her bed had probably been sacrificed to make room for a bigger home brewing facility. There would be questions too. God, there would be so many questions and she would have to find a way of answering them without answering them at all.

She gathered up her things quietly, the atmosphere much like it was when she arrived: he worked and ignored her, she tiptoed around him. It was like the past three days had never happened.

The doors rustled open without ceremony and for a ship with such a controlled life support system, the air felt fresh and new.

Erin stood politely before the open doors, waiting for the Captain to say something; anything. He barely looked up, other than to dismiss her with a curt thank you.

She turned to leave.

“I can trust nothing about this incident will go any further?” were his parting words.

“Of course not, Sir, patient confidentiality is of the utmost importance to me.”

Erin hurried back to her quarters. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and it was hard to pinpoint if she felt more disappointment or anger. She didn’t become a nurse for people to be grateful, but three days in there and he couldn’t even look at her to thank her. It would be easy to pour scorn on him, maybe it was just embarrassment, awkwardness, but then it wasn’t like he was the shy and retiring type. She felt empty, bereft even, like someone had hollowed out her insides. What the hell was wrong with her?

A realisation she could never, and would never verbalise hit her: she would miss him.

 

 

It was almost a week since she had been freed from quarantine. Dasha had nagged her with questions at every opportunity.

“Aw, Boots, come on, spill,” she whined pleadingly, “tell, tell, tell, tell ,” she parroted.

“There’s nothing to tell, Dash. He was ill, I looked after him, end of story.” Those words felt more true and final than Erin wanted to admit.

“Did you see him naked?” Dasha said, eyes awash with a mischievous twinkle.

“No, but what do you care, he’s really not your type.”

Dasha shrugged and conceded her friend was right.

“Is he yours?” It was said in jest, but it made Erin uneasy.

“Ew,” she lied, trying hard not to look guilty, then feeling instantly even more guilty that she should feel that way in the first place.

“But did he blow chunks and was it gross?”

“For God’s sake Dash, drop it. It really wasn’t half as interesting as you want it to be.”

Dasha shrugged again, clearly disappointed there was no gossip to be gleaned. The smell from the mash kettle had now started to drift around the room. Erin examined the hydrometer, keen to change the topic of conversation.

“You know this is lethal, you really are going to have to drop the volume on this, otherwise sick bay is going to be overrun with cases of alcohol poisoning.”

“Spoilsport. You up for the party tonight?”

“If you are supplying the booze then absolutely not.”

“No, alcohol is provided.” Dasha rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming.

“So all of _this_ ,” Erin gestured, “is literally pointless.” She shoved Dasha, who allowed herself to tumble over in a mock-death onto the bunk.

“I can’t make it though, sorry. I’m on shift.”

Erin was a little disappointed, she could have used some fun. She had spent the week avoiding things: avoiding questions; avoiding Lorca. even avoiding her own thoughts, but however hard she tried to push them away, they returned, crept back in when it was quiet, when she was alone.

Sometimes she wanted to comfort him, be kind and give a bruised and damaged man a chance to speak about unspeakable things without fear of judgement. He had almost let someone in. Perhaps he would again.

She chided herself that she wasn’t a therapist and she wasn’t here to fix anyone. It made her feel preposterous, as if she could romanticise the Captain’s trauma and turn it into a way to – she didn’t want to acknowledge the rest of that thought. Anyway, if anyone could fix him, it would be someone who knew him, like Admiral Cornwell. The bilious taste of jealousy reared up from her stomach. She wondered just what it was Kat used to like. It stung.

In the quiet nights, when Dasha was on shift, she pictured him in other ways. Her fingers remembered the warmth of his body, and it elicited a throbbing damp heat between her legs. She imagined her fingers were his and whispered out his name in the dark as she drew out her own pleasure, satisfying the needy ache that thrummed relentlessly until its demand was met. All too easily, the image of him laid out on the bed drifted back to her, only this time she didn’t kneel beside him, she would straddle him, riding and bucking until her soft cry of completion tore through the image. Only she didn’t feel complete: once her breathing slowed, in the darkness of her own room, she felt the emptiness return.

Keeping busy in sick bay seemed like the best option. Lorca rarely ventured there. It was easy to steer clear and he had made no effort to throw himself into her path either. She liked Hugh Culber a lot. He was kind and fair and accomplished. Watching him work was a good opportunity to learn. It was a positive distraction and she tried to fill her mind with medicine.       

“Erin, those are Captain Lorca’s eye treatments, I need you to take them to his ready room.”

She tried to stop it, but her face fell. It didn’t go unseen. Hugh was a perceptive man. Concern crept into his expression.

“I’m sorry, Erin, he asked for you.” He studied her carefully.

“I thought he’d be sick of the sight of me,” she tried to smile as she gathered the medicines, “it’s no problem.”

Captain Lorca bade her enter the ready room, and Erin tried not to dwell on the last time she had been summoned. Trying not to think about a lot of things, she swallowed hard and proceeded.

“Nurse Powers, it’s nice to see you.” He gave a slow, wicked grin.

“I…” she was more nervous than the last time, more wracked in self-doubt and uncertainty, this time more directly relating to the man in front of her. “I brought these,” she offered, swiftly kicking herself for sounding like a moron. She deposited them on the desk. He advanced, taking one of the sprays to his eye without flinching. Even a nurse as experienced as Erin found the thought of pressing a needle into your own eyeball a little disconcerting.

“You know I never really thanked you properly.” He stepped confidently into Erin’s personal space, and she felt her breathing sharpen and her mouth dry. “For what you did and for keeping things…” he pondered on the word, “discreet.”

He looked into her eyes and her heart started to pound.

“I’d like you to take the night off, enjoy the party, you deserve it. Anyone who can put up with me in that state for three days, damn well earned the right to let their hair down a little.” He had stepped back a little, giving her space to recover herself.

“Thank you, Sir,” she managed weakly.

“Thank _you_ ,” he said softly, leaning forward to cup her face in his hands and plant a barely-there, lingering kiss on her lips. He stepped away fully now. Erin slowly opened her half-closed eyes and could say nothing. He turned as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Enjoy your evening, Powers,” he said nonchalantly.

Erin scurried out of the room, confused and excited. Her hand shot to her lips, seeking a trace of him as confirmation this was real and not imagined.

She was going to the party. Whether she was drinking to celebrate or forget was undecided.


	6. The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally...
> 
> Enjoy smut fans! ;)

The party was already busy by the time Erin made her way in; it was early but the revellers were making the most of their night of freedom. Cups were full, the music thumped and the lights flashed with intent. A small gathering of dancers had already stepped out onto the floor, a casual blend of the most confident and the least sober and there were already signs of the obligatory pairing off.

She’d taken extra care with her appearance. Black dress, gold heels, two extra thick, cat-like flicks of eyeliner. Her hair was loose, falling across her shoulders and snaking down her back with a slight wave.

Dasha bounced up and thrust a full cup into Erin’s hand.

“Boots, no boots. Looking good. Drink this and everyone gets instantly smarter, hotter and funnier. Trust me.” Her nose wrinkled with mischief and Erin squeezed her close, lifting her cup to her friend.

“What we drinking to ?” Dasha asked.

“To needless risk-taking to produce alcohol when it’s readily available?” Erin smirked.

“To you surviving three days of Lorca torture and getting a free shift pass for tonight.”

Erin avoided eye contact. Sometimes when Dasha had asked questions about those three days, she’d made it sound so much worse than it was. It seemed easier than explaining she’d almost cried when she left. She brushed her lips where he’d planted that soft kiss and forced herself not to get lost in her thoughts.

“Ensign Cole to Nurse Powers, come in,” Dasha nudged at her cup, “to getting drunk and laid!” she finished just as a third cup swung in.

“I’ll drink to that,” said an already merry Tilly, “and the dancefloor is the place to make it happen.”

She was dragging at them both insistently, and with a shrug they followed, knowing that resisting was a fruitless exercise . Erin downed her drink in one to the glee of her companions and was needled onto the dancefloor. A miraculous second cup found its way into her hand and she found a sudden freedom in moving to the music. A couple of would-be-suitors tried to move closer, pressing themselves in amongst the trio. She shied away. She was doing her best to push aside the events of the last few days, but her mind was too full of someone else to even contemplate an entanglement of any shape or form. Instead she shunted both of them in the direction of an eager Tilly.

Dasha tapped at her arm. “I’m heading over _there_.” She gave a wink and stuck her tongue out before stalking after a blonde girl from engineering. With Tilly otherwise engaged, Erin found herself dancing awkwardly on her own, unaware she was being watched . She tried to subtly withdraw from the floor, weaving past other dancers using the opportunity to grind against each other.

The screeching halt to the thumping music was a blessed relief. Chatter faded out, as a presence in the room started to turn heads.

The Captain made this way through the stunned crowd. People seemed to sober up, as if some witchcraft was at work, couples untwined themselves from one another and scrambled to regain some dignity. It was thankfully relatively dark and crowded and the most embarrassed were in hope they had gone unseen. Erin tried not to stare, but felt sure she could feel his eyes on her.

“What’s a man got to do to get a drink?”

The tension was cut. It was Tilly who managed to rush forward with a full cup. He sniffed its contents. The crowd were still quiet. He held up the unknown drink in his hand, the room watching for cues.

“To _Discovery_ , her crew and to winning the war.”

He tipped the cup and polished off its contents. A roar went up and the mood relaxed as all followed suit and took a drink.

“Enjoy the party.” The music kicked back in at his cue, although at a lower volume than before. Slowly the dance floor started to fill up again. Drinks were refilled and conversations restarted. The buzz started to return to the room and the volume crept back up. 

Erin had managed to slink to the side of the room. There was a presence behind her and she knew instinctively it was him. It rooted her to the spot. She knew his smell, could feel his breath against her ear, but didn’t dare to turn around, and knew he didn’t want her to.

“Nurse Powers. I would like to invite you for a private drink in my quarters. If you would care to join me, I’d appreciate thirty minutes to attend to some matters first.”

Her heart was in her throat, pounding in time to the thumping bass. By the time she could muster enough composure to whisper a hoarse, “Yes, Sir,” she knew he was already gone. It needed no further thought, it was clear what it meant and what she had agreed to without hesitation.

Thirty minutes felt like a long time.

She slowed down her drinking intentionally, tried her best to disappear into the ether. Her friends were busy with their own agendas. Slipping out unnoticed was relatively easy. She was hypervigilant making her way down the corridor, taking a final sweep and ruffling her hair before trying the door.

It opened and he scanned the hallway, the way she had done a second before. He had taken off his jacket and there was a very fine bottle of scotch and two glasses on the table. He ushered her in, watching her movement, letting his eyes skim over her body. It felt like she had never been here before, in spite of spending 72 hours there, unable to leave.

“Take a seat. Drink?”

With a weak ‘please’ she perched nervously on the edge of the sofa and accepted the large honey-coloured single malt.

“I didn’t think, can you drink that straight?”

Erin swirled it around in the glass and pouted. “I guess I look like I can’t hold my liquor. I take it straight up, but thank you.” She almost regretted it, it sounded forward, but she understood what a private drink meant. She had little to lose and was emboldened by the warm glow of alcohol.

He smirked and took a leisurely seat, reclining opposite her.

“Do you know why I asked you here?” He leant forward intently.

She took a large glug of her drink to steady herself.

“Yes.”

His gaze ran up the length of her legs, paused at the hem of her dress, then settled on her face.

“Are you drunk?”

“No, Sir. Warm, but a long way from drunk.”

He studied her eyes and nodded, clearly believing her.

“If you know why you’re here, there’s no need for the formality. Use my name, Erin. You have before.”

She had, when he was at his lowest, to offer comfort. Perhaps this was another form of comfort, but it felt very different. She slipped back a little in her seat. He watched her squirm, obviously all too aware of what she wanted and what was going to happen. 

“Do you want this, Erin?”

She decided to play the game and slowly traced her tongue across her lip, slipping back further against the backrest and pushing her thighs out towards him. A driving ache was building between her thighs and her breath was already ragged.

“Yes, Gabriel. I want this.”

He settled back in smug amusement. It shouldn’t, but his arrogance made her want him more.

“So are you wearing those non-regulation pink frilly things under there? I’ve thought about those a lot.”

She shook her head.

“Black?” his interest piqued.

Her head shook again and she chewed at her bottom lip.

“Red and lacy?” His question sounded hopeful.

She fixed her eyes on his. “I didn’t want to ruin the line of this dress. I’m not wearing any.”

He swallowed hard, the power shifted for the first time. His eyes wide, clawing back control, “Show me,” he commanded.

She slowly uncrossed her legs. The air fizzed as she hitched up her dress and parted her thighs. His glass clanked down on the table and he seemed to appear beside her in a swift, single motion.  His fingers teased the inside of her thigh and she exhaled a soft whimper. With his other hand, he brushed her cheek and raked through her hair before his mouth crashed down on hers.

Erin writhed underneath him, drilling her heels down into the floor in a desperate attempt to ground herself and find some scrap of control. He drew himself away, his own breath now hitched. Pushing her legs further apart, he took in the sight of her, her eyes silently begging for his touch. His hands danced a painfully slow ascent up her thighs. With each millimetre the rise and fall of her chest grew sharper in anticipation, until with a wicked smile he ended her agony and dipped his finger into the pooling heat between her legs. She let out a stifled cry.

“You really do want this, my, my you _really_ do.” He leant forward and swept her hair away, licking and biting at the exposed sensitive column of her neck.

“You don’t have to be quiet, no one can hear you. I _want_ to hear you.”

Rhythmic fingers worked inside her, as his thumb skilfully brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves that was driving her close to the edge, her hips now wilfully bucking against each thrust, her cries growing louder. She was almost at the point of no return, grinding with every motion and clawing at his shoulders for something to hang on to when he stopped abruptly. Fear flashed across as her face that she would be left in this state, or there was a sudden change of heart.

“Please, please don’t stop.”

He slowly raised his fingers to his lips, still curled in a wicked smile of accomplishment and tasted each finger.

“You taste delicious and you are so fucking wet for me.”

He lowered himself to his knees, shunting the table behind him out of the way, scattering the glasses. He paused and looked up at her from his new vantage point. She could feel his hot breath against her skin. He made her wait.

“Gabriel, please.”

He obeyed. First with restrained soft flicks of his tongue, then a greedy mouth, only spurred on by her now loud and sharp squeals of pleasure as she came undone, his hands gripping her shaking legs so hard he was bound to mark her pale skin.

Without giving her time to recover he was pulling her to her feet, supporting her unsteady frame as he fumbled around trying to work out how to free her from her dress.

“How the hell do I get this off you?” he growled.

“Here,” she steadied herself and slid the zip down at the side. She tugged the dress slowly over her head and discarded it, before her arm instinctively shot back down to her side, the other sweeping across her stomach for security. He tried to push her arm away, but it was rooted down. Even in dim light, in the midst of her own urgent hunger, self-consciousness was still winning the fight.

“Don’t hide, I want to see,” his voice softened. He pulled her close and she allowed him to unhook her bra and slide it off with an unexpected, gentle reverence. She could feel him, hard, pressing against her. He was still fully dressed. He stepped back again, confused why she could spread her legs without shame then hide herself.

Her eyes were glassy.

He closed the space between them, brushing her hair away from her face, his mouth at her lips, then leaving a warm, damp trail down her neck.

“I’ve thought about this so much,” he murmured as he nipped at the sensitive skin under her ear, “too much, constant distraction.”

She whimpered softly. She knew what he meant.

 She slowly slid her arms away from her own body and to his, raking her nails into his shoulders to plead for more, losing herself and her self-consciousness. She clung on, until she final relented and lessened her grip, allowing him to step away to admire her. He didn’t even notice what had bothered her at first, too consumed with drinking in the bare, lithe body in front of him. When he did work it out, he gave no sign, instead scooping her up and carrying her to the bed, laying her down carefully.

“Fucking glorious,” he muttered as he quickly started to dispense with his own clothes.

She reached out, aching to touch him but he remained out of her grasp.

“I doubt this is going to last as long as I’d like it to, honey, and I am going to explode if I don’t fuck you now.”

His lips, tongue and teeth worked along her collar bone as he positioned himself between her legs and covered her with his strong frame.

He paused, his face suddenly serious. “Do you want this?”

“Fuck me, Gabriel.”

It was all he needed to hear. He groaned through gritted teeth as he thrust inside her, her tight, hot walls stretching to accommodate him, her hips grinding back as he lost control and the slow teasing motion grew deeper, harder, faster. He raised himself to his knees, pulling her legs up, holding each ankle at his shoulders. The sheets bunched in her fists as she opened her eyes to drink in every movement of his strong body. His eyes burned with lust.

“Come for me, I need to feel it, fucking come for me.”

He was fucking her so hard it almost hurt, his need, the delicious friction all drove her closer and closer until she couldn’t hold back. She was bursting, gripping him inside her, eyes focused on him watching her coming underneath him until he could hold back no longer and he spilled into her.

They remained still for a moment, coming down gently from the high, until he collapsed down on the bed beside her. She propped herself up on one elbow.

His finger traced down her side. She winced as he touched the place she had tried to hide.

“Don’t hide this, it’s part of you.”

“I don’t have to like it.”

“You’re beautiful, it’s part of you, so it’s beautiful. Seriously though, you stand there naked and you think that’s where I’m looking.”

She smiled. She hated it, a deep red port wine stain down her side. It had covered most of the right side of her body as a child, a constant source of torment from other children too young and cruel to know better. Most of it was removed now, bar the parts of her body unsuitable for the invasive lasering needed to take the mark away. Its presence was a gnawing reminder of unhappier times. It drove her to make her appearance perfect, her hair, her make-up.

To let someone see it required a degree of trust she had never imagined would be given to the man beside her, yet he made her feel at peace. It didn’t matter her hair was mussed and wild, or that her painstakingly applied make-up was now smudged.

“You didn’t seem that surprised to see it.”

“It’s in your file, distinguishing marks.”

She elbowed him gently in the rib before with new-found confidence she straddled him, pinning him to the bed.

“Again?” he said with glee.

“At least twice more before you inevitably kick me out because the corridors are going to fill up for shift change.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more liberal amounts of smut from this point, sorry if it isn't your cup of tea!


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